The End of the Ghost's Love Story
by Jungle Jenna
Summary: A series of short chapters detailing the thoughts of Christine, Raoul, and Erik throughout the final events of the book. Christine and Raoul try to come to a resolution about recent events, and Erik searches for redemption. Leroux.
1. The Calm Before the Storm

_A/N: Hello! I decided to sit down and write a series of chapters detailing the thoughts of each character throughout important events in the original novel. Originally, I intended for it to be completely from Erik's point of view, but I realized it would be interesting to delve into other character's thought processes, as well. _

_This particular chapter is from Christine's point of view. This is at the point of the book where Erik makes his intentions of marrying Christine clear, and she realizes she must make a decision before Raoul leaves Paris. I intend to remain as close to canon as possible. _

_For those of you who are reading my 'Three Phantoms' story, I intend to update soon. I have a few weeks of school left, and things have been rather chaotic. Now, enough of my blabbering – on to the story! _

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I lie awake in bed, tossing and turning in the vain hope of coming to some sort of resolution about the dark mess my life has become. The tension of my situation has been steadily building over the last three months. I know I can't pretend to be secretly engaged to Raoul forever. Erik won't allow for the game to continue much longer. I don't know how I feel about the man who was once my idol and secret friend. He has given and taken so much from me…

When I am with him, he lavishes me with all sorts of gifts and affection. He's like a faithful dog trailing behind me at every waking moment. He claims I have more power over him, but I'm not so sure I believe his words. In his mind, nothing is given freely. Everything comes with a price. When he was simply my Angel, he expected me to devote my soul to him and ignore everything else in my life. I was required to give up everything in order to receive what I believed to be the most precious gift: the gift of music, which was the one and final link to my dead father…

Despite Erik's entreaties, he is very much the one in control and I see that clearly now. He's always careful to keep me under his thumb. _I'm _the dog in this equation, and my leash continues to grow shorter with each passing day. He wants me to marry him. Could I be a good and dutiful wife to a demon? Could I force myself to compromise my mind and heart to prevent Erik's hopes and dreams from being dashed to the floor? As horrible of a man he has the potential to be, I cannot bring myself to hate him. I care about him. I do not wish to bring him pain. My heart cringes at the thought of walking away from him with the intention of never looking back… but I feel there is no other way to save myself.

The truth is, I _cannot _bring myself to love him. At first, everything seemed too good to be true… but over time, his darkness has crept into my soul and choked out my happiness, my hopes, and my dreams. As long as I remain with Erik, I will continue to have no voice and no sense of self. Nowadays, I no longer recognize myself when I look in the mirror. My face is ashen and gaunt with dark bags under my eyes. My once golden hair hangs limply about my face. My body looks frail, as if the briefest gust of wind could carry me away.

I almost wish such a thing would occur.

If I don't act now, Raoul will leave Paris for his expedition to the North Pole, and leave me to fend for myself. He believes I'm in love with another man. He doesn't know that every cruel gesture I've paid him these past months was born of love and not hatred. How else was I supposed to protect him from Erik's wrath? I highly doubt I would able to survive my situation if Raoul left me. I once believed my love and acceptance would be enough to heal Erik, but I realize now that his wounds are irreparable. He depends on me for some sort of transformation, but I'm afraid he has overestimated my abilities.

I cannot wrestle with my heart any longer. I love Raoul with my heart and spirit combined. His pure love and innocence restores me. It breathes new life into my soul. His presence is like a shield, protecting me from darkness and helping me to see the light once more. I know the most honorable thing for me to do would be to approach Erik with honesty and sincerity. I have deceived him far too long… but I don't know if I have the courage or the strength to face him.

Would he kill Raoul if I made my intentions of leaving clear?

Would he kill _me_?

I shudder to think of what my life has become and the decisions I'm being forced to make. Please God, guide me through this time and help me to understand what I must do. I do not wish to hurt anyone, yet it seems inevitable. I was the one who blindly chose to follow a shadow, believing it to be an angel. I must now be the one to rectify my mistakes by following this dark path until the end.

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_A/N: Thanks for reading! Please review and tell me if you think this should continue or not. I'll give you a mask-shaped cookie if you do. :o)_


	2. The Ghost's Love Story

_A/N: Thank you to those of you who reviewed! I hereby grant thee a mask-shaped cookie. _

_This chapter takes place in Erik's point of view. It's a little scattered, but I hope you still enjoy. Thank you for reading!_

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**Atop Apollo's Lyre:**

…"_Horror! Horror! Horror!"_

… "_I could hardly bear the sight of his face…"_

… "_He would kill for me, Raoul…"_

… "_I do not love him…"_

… "_We must leave tomorrow after my performance. I must sing for him one last time…"_

Long after Christine and the young man had fled the roof, I remained in my position atop Apollo's Lyre. Her words burrowed into my mind like worms. My fingernails dug into my scalp as the shock wore off, and the realization of Christine's betrayal dawned on me. I had felt powerless as I watched the young man bundle her in his arms and kiss her in a way I'd dreamt of doing countless times. Even though that single act of intimacy had caused me to wince and shudder, it was Christine's revelation that cut my heart to pieces.

_She doesn't love me… She doesn't love me… She doesn't love me… _

I turned this phrase over in my head again and again, as if it was some curious specimen I couldn't quite understand. I recalled the shared moments between Christine and I that had become so precious over the span of our relationship… The way her dress brushed my hand in passing… The way she sighed at the sound of my voice… The way her eyes lit up as I demonstrated my countless inventions and little magic tricks… Each instance had left me breathless.

I don't know how long I remained on the roof. By the time I collected myself, my tears had been replaced with a boiling rage. I marched blindly through the dark passageways to my home, my mind having slipped into thoughts of my next grand scheme.

Christine didn't love me, but she would. She would have no other choice...

* * *

**The End of the Ghost's Love Story:**

Three days – three horrendous days – passed. The other, darker side of my consciousness had taken over. The Voice that came and went as it pleased had whispered insidious things in my ear and had provoked unwanted thoughts. There was only one way to make the Voice go away… I had come so close to losing all control. I had watched in glee as my dear Daroga and the young man pressed their swollen tongues to the scalding mirrors of my torture chamber, and laughed humorlessly as they howled in agony.

At that point, I was prepared to kill them both, in order to protect what was mine…

There I was, teetering on the edge of a great precipice, preparing to plunge into the abyss, when Christine – my dear, sweet Christine – saved me. She came to me with her blue eyes wide.

Clutching my sleeve, she pleaded: "Please, Erik. Don't kill them! I will marry you, as long as you don't kill them."

I wrenched my arm away from her. "You will only try to kill yourself again. What good is a dead wife to me?"

"No, Erik," she insisted, her voice cracking. "I will be your _living _wife."

To make her point clear, she gently touched my neck and guided her lips to mine. It was a small, chaste kiss… but a kiss all the same. I stared at her with tears streaming down my face. From that point on, I knew I owed it to her to save her young man's life. After I had fished the two of them out of the wine cellar, I simply gazed at her in awe.

I finally had a wife. A living, breathing wife.

And to think I had been prepared to blow myself and a quarter of Paris to bits…

* * *

After I had dealt with the boy, I returned to my little house on the lake where Christine – my living bride – waited for me.

The time spent away from Christine allowed me time to think. The events of the past three days drifted before my eyes in slow-motion and I stared, horrified, into space. I had done it all for Christine… but now as I stood at the threshold of the drawing room, trembling like a child as I soaked Christine up with my eyes, I noticed the bloodstains on her wedding gown and the dried blood on her forehead.

She stood before the fireplace, appearing luminescent in the otherwise dark room. She was an angel – a lovely and delicate angel. I had coaxed her to me with gentle persuasion, snapped her wings, and lifted her up by the sheer magnitude of my voice. From the moment I'd laid eyes on her, I'd wanted her for my own – but at what price?

Before this moment, I had never considered the consequences that would follow my actions. The image of her unconscious form lying in a pool of her own blood flashed through my mind. Christine had tried to commit suicide because of me. She had no longer wished to live because of _me. _

"Erik," her soft voice cut through my reverie.

I didn't know how long I'd been watching her from the doorway. It could've been seconds, perhaps hours… She extended her hand to me and I went to her side immediately, like an obedient dog ready to die for her. I eagerly searched her face. Her skin was pale and ashen, her once golden hair dull and lifeless. There were dark circles under her eyes and red marks on her wrists where I had bound her. Where had the once vibrant, youthful woman gone?

"Christine," I murmured, as I timidly grasped her hands in mine.

She wore an expression of quiet resignation as she looked up at my mask. Earlier, she had restrained the urge to go to the boy when I had fished him and the Daroga out of the wine cellar. I had sensed her desire to rush to her lover's side and cradle him in her arms. She had pretended to be unconcerned, to have eyes only for me – for I was soon to be her husband, you know.

Christine had promised, yet it was all at her own expense.

"My darling Christine," I whispered hoarsely, gripping her fingers more tightly. "What have I done to you?"

Christine was such a good, sweet girl! She behaved like the dutiful wife I longed her to be, yet I could see the life slipping from her eyes little by little. Who knew how long before the light in her eyes would fade completely…

"My poor Erik," she whispered and lifted her hand.

Her touch was feather-light on my mask. I shuddered and fell in a heap before her, showering her hands and feet with kisses.

What a magnificent woman!

Christine had endured so much by my hand, and here she was saying 'my poor Erik'. Her forgiveness astounded me.

"My poor Erik," she repeated, her voice tremulous with emotion, as she stroked my head.

Something deep inside me snapped. I couldn't bear it any longer. Suddenly, I jumped to my feet, startling her.

"I must go," I said.

Christine appeared quite taken aback. "What? But you just returned…"

"Don't worry," I assured, stroking her cheek with the back of my hand. "I'll return shortly."

* * *

I returned to my little house by the lake with her young man tossed over my shoulder like a limp rag doll. Christine came running the moment she heard the front door open, her blue eyes growing wide at the sight of her lover. I deposited him on the divan.

"Here," I motioned to his still form. "He is yours. Take him. I release you from your promise."

Christine blinked rapidly.

"What do you mean?" she inquired in a gentle voice

I swallowed the protests welling up inside me.

"I know you love your young man, Christine," I explained calmly, much more so than I would've expected. "He can offer you more than I can. Take him and forget about me. I release you from your promise to be my wife."

Christine let out a cry and rushed to the boy's side, bestowing kisses upon his face and neck. He groaned before forcing his eyes open. Suddenly realizing where he was, he struggled to a sitting position and embraced Christine tightly.

I promptly turned away from them. My eyes stung with unshed tears. There was no jealousy left in me to spare… only misery at what I doing. I closed my eyes and steadied my breathing before my emotions overcame me, and I changed my mind. I stood in a dark corner and watched as Christine helped the boy struggle to his feet. He wrapped a protective arm around her waist and guided her to the door…

This was it.

This was the last time I would ever see Christine. I had hoped for something more – a goodbye of sorts. Perhaps there was a part of me that hoped she would decline my gesture, choosing to be with me instead. I don't know what I had been expecting. I couldn't hold back my tears any longer, and I turned to rest my forehead against the cold stone wall. I now understood the misery Christine must've felt to make her want to bash her head in.

There was a slight pressure on my shoulder and I whipped around to find Christine standing before me with a renewed vigor in her eyes. The firelight danced on her golden curls, creating a halo around her sweet head. She clasped my hands gently, as warm, grateful tears streamed down her face. She kissed my knuckles and removed my mask, letting it clatter to the floor.

Christine gazed upon my ravaged face with nothing but acceptance and compassion. She guided my forehead to her lips and pressed a warm, gentle kiss above my brow. A sob welled within me and I wrestled with the urge to crush her body to mine and never let her go.

"My Maestro," she murmured.

Christine moved to release my hand and return to the boy's side. Instinctively, my fingers curled around hers, resisting the inevitable. Even so, her fingers slipped through mine like fine sand. I grasped blindly for her sleeve, the train of her wedding gown, but all I clutched was empty air. I wanted to shout out my love for her, to throw myself on the floor and weep like a child, to beg her to stay with me – anything to delay her departure a second longer.

But what was the point?

The boy wrapped his arm around her once more and guided her out the door. Christine never glanced back… not even once….

But the boy did.

He paused on the threshold of my prison for a mere second. In that moment, his eyes locked with mine and in them, I saw courage and strength and honesty. He was a good and pure man, just like Christine. He would take care of her in a way I could not.

I resented it, but it was true.

The honesty and goodness of that understanding, yet challenging, stare seared my black and twisted soul like the sun, forcing me to break eye contact. In some ways, I had never known innocence and in my effort to obtain it, I had only managed to take theirs instead.

When the door clanged shut behind them, I whimpered and fell to the floor in a heap, as though I were a puppet whose strings had been cut.

I don't know how long I was on the floor. My muscles began to stiffen from my position on the cold floor, but I was too exhausted and distraught to care. Eventually, my tears subsided and I succumbed to a heavy, dreamless sleep.

* * *

**The Aftermath:**

I awoke to a cold darkness.

I had experienced the same darkness for many years, but now it was different. After experiencing the joy of another human being's company and the warmth Christine had always brought to my home, I suddenly felt acutely aware of the chill and isolation.

This was no longer my home.

My home was wherever Christine was. It had been that way from the first time I'd heard her sing. It took some effort to collect my numb limbs from the floor. I ached everywhere, inside and out. I wandered aimlessly around my house, mindlessly running my fingers along the furniture and objects cluttering the mantle.

With a sudden gust of power and rage that surprised even me, I knocked over furniture, tore the draperies from the walls, and smashed my little inventions and souvenirs from my travels to bits. The only room that survived was Christine's.

As long as she had called the room her own, I had sworn to respect her privacy and had never ventured within the walls of her protective space. Now that she was gone and never to return, I enclosed myself within those walls. I opened her armoire and pressed the soft fabric of her dresses to my unmasked face, inhaling her familiar scent.

I was moved to tears by the intimacy that had always eluded me during the time spent at her side. I touched the brush on her vanity, fingering the delicate strands of golden hair caught in its bristled teeth. I felt an odd thrill of delight wash over me as I rummaged through her things, as if I had deluded myself into believing Christine was beyond the door, her delicate hand ready to yank the door open and catch me dirty-handed.

I opened a drawer to find a stack of papers bearing her neat handwriting within. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure the imaginary Christine wasn't looking before I pulled them out and quickly leafed through the pages. It seemed to be a diary of the events that had transpired the past eight months. In my haste to have a part of Christine with me again, my eyes began to devour her most personal thoughts...

_...I never thought I would be the kind of girl to own a diary. They have always seemed like such trivial things to me. I never understood why a person would take the time each day to record mundane events no one else will ever care about. I do not write this to be remembered or for self-flattery, believing my life to be significant enough to put down on paper._

_ No, I do it because I must._

_ Lately, I've begun to hear a voice inside my head. I cringe at the way those last words appear on the page! If anyone happens to get ahold of this, I know for certain they'll think I'm mad. But I swear that I am not mad! I must write because there is no one I can talk to who would understand. I have only myself to confide in, and my thoughts have been rather scattered, as of late. _

_It all began three weeks ago. I had just settled in my new dressing room and was brushing out my hair when I heard a strange, melodic voice whisper in my ear. I swatted at my ear the way I would a fly and turned to find nothing there. I was so frightened that I fled the room and was reluctant to return for days. When I returned, I heard the voice again. _

_Instead of fleeing, I listened to the unearthly song, as if in a trance. It swelled all around me and inside my head, to the point where I could no longer decipher the difference between what I was thinking and hearing. The voice faded as quickly as it had come, and I remember my whole body trembled in a mixture of fear, confusion, and wonderment. Since then, it's grown to the point where I hear the voice everywhere – during rehearsals, in my dressing room, as I stroll through the corridors of the theater, and as feed the horses in the Opera's stable. Everywhere! _

_It speaks to me as a normal person would speak to another, except I'm always alone when these – incidents – occur. It never says anything out of place and displays a rather wry sense of humor. It's the most beautiful voice I've ever heard in my life. Each time it utters a sound, it strikes my heart with ecstasy, as if God Himself had spoken. My mind wanders to a time I believed such things were possible… It brings to mind a promise a father made to his only child, upon his dying breath… No! I cannot bear the disappointment. I can't let myself hope. Not yet, anyway… _

_...I call the Angel of Music 'Maestro' because he refuses to give me a proper name. Even though he doesn't say, I believe he takes pride in it whenever I refer to him as such. It's been two months and I've made astounding progress in my lessons. The Voice is strict and exacting in his demands, yet also fair and honest and kind. Sometimes after my lessons have concluded, I sit in my dressing room and talk with him about everything and nothing. _

_I'm too embarrassed to admit that the Voice has become my one and only true friend. The other girls here at the opera are competitive and two-faced. I'm sure not _all _are, but I've been at the receiving end of gossip too many times to let my guard down. I do not converse with the men here because I feel my experience is lacking, and the way they regard me gives me the impression they expect more from me than I understand and am able to give. _

_The Voice seems to genuinely understand the pain I've experienced in my life, especially from the passing of my dear, sweet father. I'm so afraid I'll wake up one day to find it has all been a terrible and miraculous dream. I still wonder if it's all in my head, if the Voice is even a tangible being. What if I really have gone mad, after all?..._

_...It breaks my heart every time I'm forced to send Raoul away. The minute I look into those honest, pure eyes and boyish face, I immediately feel the urge to wrap my arms around him. He is not the awkward boy he used to be, having grown to be a handsome, dignified young man. I cannot even glance his way without provoking the wrath of the Voice, which is incredibly hard to manage, since Raoul happens to be everywhere I turn._

_ I trust the Voice has good intentions. He must have a reason for such unjustified anger! Otherwise, the only explanation I have for his odd behavior is that his pure, angelic spirit has been marred by human jealousy. Sometimes I think the most absurd things!..._

_Dearest Raoul,_

_I write this addressed to you in case anything happens to me and we never see each other again. At this rate, I doubt I'll ever make it out alive. I feel the need to write to you, even if you never come to read this, because I have unwittingly tangled you in a mess of my own creation. _

_It was so difficult for me to ignore you and pretend that I didn't remember our fond times together as children. I remember them so clearly, Raoul! I remember as if it happened yesterday. How I long for the safety and innocence of that time… I'm no longer the person I used to be. My life is a shell of its former joy and promise. Now all I have left is the broken remnants of my dead father, and a strange, dark companion with hands of ice and a love that threatens to drown me!_

_There is no Angel of Music, Raoul. There is only Erik! The voice, angel, and confidante I have worshipped these past months is none other than the Opera Ghost – the infamous Phantom of the Opera! I feel like such a fool. He is an odd, pitiful, foreboding man who hides his face behind a full-faced mask. _

_All I can see are his eyes, which burn with an intensity that defies his expressionless façade. He frightens me, Raoul! I wish I had been more honest with you from the beginning. I feel utterly duped. Oh – there he is at the door. I must unfortunately take my leave. No matter what happens, you must know that my heart will always belong to you._

_With Love,_

_Christine_

Hollowed out by her words, I set aside her journal entries and curled up on her bed. Surrounded by her scent and former belongings, I imagined Christine tucking the papers away in her drawer before going to the door to greet me.

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_A/N: Please review if you would like to see more!_

_And just as a side-note… My interpretation of Erik in this chapter is rather sympathetic, even though I tend to view him as being rather psychotic and creepy in the book. My point in writing this story was to reflect on the moment of his redemption, which is still in the process of unfolding in this story. _


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